When grass giggled

Simplicity came tumbling down the hill yesterday. It plodded happily back to the top through thick mint carpet. In the grass, each footstep's impression was magically erased. At the summit, he sat a moment and noticed how perfect land's green met sky's blue. Simple was ready for another ride. He tucked his arms deep into his chest, and let the weight of his head call timber as his trunk tilted over. His feet stuck out straight as momentum started spinning. His eyes blended the colors into a delicious smoothie. His nose tickled at every turn. Eyelashes sword fought with blades of grass. Even so young, simple had an idea about how special this was. Him and gravity playing on this perfect hill, on this perfect day. As this log of a boy rolled to a stop, he laughed so hard the grass giggled.

Smokey the Bear

My last cigarette was September 1, 2008. Since that night, I have noticed a steady rise in my dream intensity. I thought I would share this dream as an example. My house sits almost at the top of a windy, cold mountain. It is nested perfectly inside an amphitheater of natural ridges. Giant chunky boulders crest the dirt like stadium seating. Groundhogs and chipmunks sell hotdogs and chuck peanuts at each other all day long. My two dogs are clinically manic from all the constant chasing and digging. We face the east directly and when the sun rises the entire house catches fire in a brilliant orange splendor.

I found myself standing in my living room. My surroundings were similar except a fresh large evergreen had grown outside my double-picture window. The tree was magnificent and stood twenty feet high. The branches seemed sculpted and jutted out from the trunk like regal soldiers. After we acquainted, a small wild cat with long gray fur came barreling down the ridge. It launched itself into the air and landed a few feet up the trunk. The cat was scrambling higher as fast as it could go. In the middle of wondering, my question was answered by a huge booming sound. Black and brown muscles covered in fur came tearing down the hillside. A giant bear, two stories tall, had grabbed hold of the tree and bent it completely over. Like a green slinky, the tree was resilient and kept a grip on the feline.

The bear was menacing. His teeth were stained, his fur was matted and dried drops of sweat sparkled. His fists were giant catchers mitts of rusted steel. He swatted them through the air like hot wet cannons. The bear kept falling against the house as he vied for position on the steep hillside. My home’s foundation was shaking from the menace. Glass shattered and shelves were toppled. Suddenly, the smell from my fearful breath seemed to catch its attention. It turned its giant cobra neck towards me. I was completely terrified. Its eyes were black as tar and just as sticky. If death had an expression, the bear was using it. It barreled up my front steps, collapsing wood snapped and splintered like thunder underneath its feet. The next thing I saw were the giant brown fists tearing and punching through my paper-thin walls.

I yanked myself out of the dream and landed on my bed with a huge thud. My dog was perched like a sphinx watching over me. His tail wagged concernedly. His head cocked sideways and panting. He seemed to know exactly what I was thinking. Boy, did I want a cigarette.